grave dancer

I am lost in the corner
of a lifetime
no atlas, no body

a floater

imagine a horse in the sun
running white with bold flanks
perspiring rivulets of jazz licks

rippling with grammar
an entomology lost to time
Cleopatra could not have done better

we’re all prospectors
dreaming of time
in the shadows of dreams

dreamt by others who have no idea
how hungrily we devour their entrails

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